


Something's Missing

by unilocular



Category: NCIS
Genre: Christmas Eve, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 07:09:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5530502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unilocular/pseuds/unilocular
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony's friends are there just in time for him to get into the holiday spirit. Team friendship. Holiday-theme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something's Missing

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little something that I wrote to get me in the holiday spirit. Hope you enjoy it!

**Thursday, December 24, 2015 – 8:58pm – Residence of Tony DiNozzo – Judiciary Square Neighborhood, Washington, DC –**

Tony DiNozzo doesn't make it home in time.

He half-expects to find Zoe waiting for him by their door with their suitcases packed and ready to go. They'd planned a road trip up to Keates family cabin in northern Vermont for a picturesque Christmas complete with snow and sugar plums and—virgin—hot toddies. But his team's case ran over—they always do on the holidays—so he told her to head up there without him.

And for the first time in her life, she actually listened.

_I really thought she might stay with me for Christmas._

But all he finds are his bags there to greet him in the dark.

He runs his hand through his hair, tries his best to hide his disappointment. He heads over to his fishbowl, watches his goldfish twirl and dance in the water. He drops a few flakes of food onto the water. They lap at the surface hungrily, eagerly to consume everything.

"Hey Kate. Hi Ziva," he whispers. "I hope you two are getting excited about Christmas. If you're good, Santa might come by with a present tonight."

On an adjacent shelf, a plastic castle hides behind a book. Even though they're only fish, Tony can't bear the thought of ruining a Christmas surprise for anyone, let alone his girls.

Sighing, he shrugs off his overcoat and tosses onto the back of his sofa. He puts his hands on his hips, surveys the sad state of his apartment. One piece of limp, plastic garland is wound around the sides of his television, and even that was a concession to Zoe's pleas to make his place more joyful.

For some reason, skipping the Christmas tree and lights and cookies and real decorations this year just felt right. Long hours spent hunting down violent criminals and unseasonably hot weather kept Tony's Christmas spirit well at bay. Because nothing says 'happy holidays' quite like arresting a serial killer in the mall while she was hiding pieces of her victims in unsuspecting people's presents.

He runs his hand over the back of his neck and debates what he should do next. After yet another horrific case, sleep and a chance to start over again in the morning always seems like the best option. But with the dawn of a new day comes time that he already promised to his father since Zoe skipped town.

Tony still isn't convinced that he want to take on the DiNozzo family brunch sober.

He pads over to his piano. He just isn't in the mood to play his heart out—plus, it doesn't help that one of his neighbors keeps complaining to the HOA about the 'racket _.'_ Whomever considers Mozart and Bach to be like nails on a chalkboard is probably the same one who listens to the _Real Housewives of DC_ so loud that Tony can hear it through his walls.

He flips open the storage compartment under the piano seat to dig through his sheet music. Half-buried under pages of Chopin and Debussey, he frees the bottle of gin he keeps for emergencies. Yes, it was part of step one—or was it step six?—to get rid of the emergency stash, but being alone on the holidays and staring down a few desolate hours until time with his father is akin to a five alarm fire.

He'll just throw a little alcohol on it and pray that his life doesn't go up in smoke.

Tucking the bottle under his arm, Tony heads into his kitchen. There's a plate on the counter of Santa-shaped sugar cookies with a note from Zoe. He crumples up the note and tosses it in the trash. Then he grabs a glass from the cupboard and starts back into the living room.

After a second thought, he grabs the plate of cookies off the counter.

_Maybe committing Santa-cide will make me feel better._

Then he collapses into the couch and pours himself a drink.

He holds up the glass to toast his fish. "Merry Christmas, ladies."

The burn is familiar like an old lover who's no good for you, but you can't stop crawling back to. His first drink blurs into another and quickly, into a third. Once the alcohol wraps him back into its loving embrace, he grabs the remote to surf through the television channels.

Nothing is on, not even on the classic movie channels.

He debates about watching _A Christmas Story_ yet again, but the movie now makes his skin crawl. All it took was passing out during the marathon while on a bender last year and he dreamed about shooting his eye out with a Red Ryder BB gun until the summer. He suppress the chill that traipses down his spine as he changes the channel. Finally, he settles on the local station's map of where Santa and his reindeer might be.

"Jolly Old St. Nick," the television croons to itself, "it somewhere over eastern Greenland. If you're still up in the DC area, you might want to get to bed so you don't miss him."

Tony toasts the announcer and then, stuffs a cookie into his mouth. If Santa is busy being digested, then he won't be able to make it to Tony's house. Tony watches blankly as the poorly made CGI sleigh and reindeer bounce across a world map like ping pong balls. Santa ends up near Vermont and Tony switches the channel.

He ends up on a repeat of on old OSU bowl game that he played in.

_I guess I could relive the glory days, huh? Not much else to do on Christmas Eve other than get black out drunk._

He sips his gin.

_Maybe that isn't a bad idea either._

Suddenly, there's a knock on the door so quiet that Tony barely hears it. He mutes the television, strains his ears until another one comes. Groaning, he puts his gin down on the coffee table.

Who the hell could be knocking on his door at half-past ten?

He hopes to G-d that it isn't those damned carolers again. The do-gooders from downstairs stop by every few days to try to force their Christmas spirit on him, no matter how much he doesn't want it. If it is them again, he might just pull his service weapon on their worthless, cheery asses.

When Tony jerks open the door, he fights the curse that rises to his tongue. He stops short at the sight in the hallway. He didn't think he drank enough booze to start hallucinating.

"Are you just going to stand there staring at me?" Tim McGee asks. "Or are you going to help?"

With his crooked Santa hat and rumpled work clothes and bags of Chinese food, Tim looks every bit a washed up version of the ghost of Christmas present.

Tony springs to life. "Oh yeah, sure. Want to come inside?"

After he takes one of the bags from Tim's hands, Tony languidly inhales the scent of Moo-Shoo Pork. His mind instantly jumps to that scene from _A Christmas Story_ inside the Chinese restaurant.

_Fa-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra._

He breaks out into a cold sweat.

Tim slips inside. "Any reason you're sitting in the dark, Tony?"

"Felt like it," Tony says, half-shrugging.

Tim flicks on the lights. "Does this have anything with Zoe leaving for the weekend?"

Tony flinches violently. "How did you know about that?"

"She called Delilah." Tim drops his bags onto the coffee table and flumps onto the couch. His Santa hat falls onto his eyes. "I figured you could use some company. Especially since you ducked my calls."

Tony rubs the back of his neck. "I didn't hear my phone."

Tim shoots him a look that says, _Yeah, didn't hear your phone, my ass_ as he reaches into the paper bags to pull out a feast packed into Chinese takeout containers. In the last bag, he removes a DVD and a pitcher of a clear brown liquid covered tenuously in plastic wrap. A small, yellow ball floats in the middle of the liquid like whatever the hell that is has a beating heart.

Tony waits for it to come to life and eat Tim like _The Blob._

"What the fuck is that?" Tony asks.

"Egg nog," Tim says as though it explains everything.

"Not on this planet."

Tim laughs. "It's the Fielding secret family recipe."

Tony cautiously eyes the concoction. "Are there any eggs in it?"

"Just one, I think." Tim points to the yellow thing floating in the center.

Tony nods. "Let me get some glasses."

When he heads into the kitchen, he reaches into his cabinets to pull out a couple of highball glasses. As low shelf as Delilah's family recipe looks, he might as well class it up as best he can. He gets back into the living room just in time for Tim to finish scarfing an egg roll with gusto. The grainy Bowl game on television screen has been replaced by the opening credits to _It's A Wonderful Life._

Tony's heart wedges itself into his throat.

Tim grins. "I bet you thought we weren't going to do it this year."

"Can you blame me after the director bumped our showing so the guys from CyberCrimes could have MTAC?"

"They were in the middle of preventing a hacker from starting a missile crisis on Christmas Eve."

"Missile crisis, smissile crisis." Chuckling, Tony shrugs. "Everyone, including the director, knows it isn't Christmas until we watch the move together."

Tim's smile fades. "I think it might just be us this year."

Tony frowns. "Where is Wheels anyway?"

"Her older sister is working with Doctors with Borders and they finally got their computer connection up tonight. So Delilah will probably be at that for hours." Tim finishes the egg roll and moves on to a container that's probably General Tso's chicken. "Talk about a Christmas miracle."

While Delilah got her Christmas miracle, Tony think he got stuck with a Christmas nightmare. No Zoe and plans with his dad for fucking brunch.

Tony collapses onto the couch and reaches for his pork. He ignores the chopsticks that Tim offers, choosing instead to grab a fork from underneath the pile of fortune cookies. He digs into his pork and it tastes gamey and greasy, absolutely divine.

"Can you believe Bishop caught the last plane out tonight for Tulsa?" Tony asks suddenly.

Tim looks up from his chicken. "I didn't know she was going home again, but I could see her needing time off after Jake."

Tony pushes his food around. "Talk about a disaster."

"Yeah." Tim half-nods. "Hey, do you want some eggnog?"

When Tony gives the go-ahead with his fork, Tim pulls the plastic wrap off the pitcher. The stench of pure alcohol wafts into the apartment. Tony's eyes water. He hopes that it isn't enough to peel the paint off his walls since he just had them redone over the summer.

Tim's face pulls with disgust as he pours them both a glass. The first sip makes Tim gag and he slides the drink well out of reach. He climbs to his feet and disappears into the kitchen.

Half-heartedly watching at Jimmy Stewart's plight on the television, Tony takes a long swig. While the Fielding family egg nog isn't as vile as Tim makes it out to be, it's strong enough to put even more hair on Tony's chest. He catches the sting of vodka and rum with a hint of nutmeg. Something is definitely missing and Tony suspects that it doesn't need more eggs. Or even eggs at all.

Tim wanders back into the living room with two beers in hand. He offers one to Tony, but the senior agent just shakes his head.

Tim pushes the pitcher closer to Tony. "Have at it. It's all yours."

"Thanks."

Tim nods, clearly understanding that Tony means more than just the nuclear egg nog. Tony finishes his glass and pours himself another one. He holds out the plate of Santa cookies and Tim puts down his dinner long enough to eat one.

They settle back into the couch to watch a movie that they've seen a thousand times already. Tony recites the dialogue—even matching Jimmy Stewart's period warble—but Tim doesn't bother to stop him this year. While his home theater system can't hold a candle to the huge screen in MTAC, Tony still feels at home with a familiar film and an old friend.

They're just at the best part—where Jimmy Stewart gets his life back and Clarence gets his wings—when another knock comes at the door.

Tim's brow furrows. "Were you expecting someone?"

Tony climbs to his feet. "I wasn't even expecting you."

When he answers the door, the sight of his Jethro Gibbs shocks him.

Dressed in his red USMC sweatshirt and jeans, Gibbs looks every bit like the haggard, unkempt ghost of Christmas past. He holds a bottle of booze with a ribbon around its neck and twin wooden Christmas trees in his hands.

"Boss," Tony breathes.

Gibbs just grunts at him. Then he presses the bottle of alcohol into Tony's arms. Of course it's Bourbon, Tony never expected anything less from his boss. Even though Tony is supposed to be on the wagon and as dry as a communion wafer, Gibbs knows him all too well.

As soon as Tony steps out of the way, Gibbs heads into the apartment. He jerks his head at Tim, who instantly sits up straighter and readjusts his Santa hat.

"Boss, if I'd known you were coming…" Tim eyes the food helplessly.

When Tony glances at Tim, the younger man shoots him a look that says, _He's going to kill me because I didn't bring him food_. Gibbs places one of the wooden trees on Tony's coffee table, then hands the other one to Tim.

Tim just stares dumbfounded at the present. "Uh, thanks, Boss."

"You're welcome, McGee." Gibbs pauses to quietly study Tony's apartment. It's enough to make his skin crawl until Gibbs continues: "Geez, DiNozzo, you didn't even bother with the decorations this year. McGee's more festive than your entire apartment."

Tony half-shrugs. "It didn't really feel like Christmas, Boss."

Gibbs heads over to lightly smack the back of Tony's head. "How about now?"

"Getting into the spirit. Thanks, Boss."

Gibbs pats Tony's back and grins. With that, he takes a place next to Tim on the couch. Somehow, Tim manages to look even more uncomfortable that he did before. He drains the last of his beer.

Gibbs points to the egg nog. "What's that?"

Tony grins. "Delilah's secret family egg nog."

Gibbs' expression turns intrigued. Tim scrubs his hand across his mouth and looks away.

"Are there any eggs in it?" Gibbs asks.

Tony shrugs. "It's debatable."

When Gibbs grabs the pitcher, Tim reaches after it. "You don't want to do that, Boss." Then he adds a pitiful: "Please."

Gibbs smacks Tim's hand away and pours himself a glass. After his sip, he closes his eyes. Tim's face goes stark white and his muscles tense like he is about to run for his life. Tony reclaims his seat, boxing the younger man in. Tim gives him the stink-eye.

The movie credits stop rolling, plunging the apartment into silence. For a moment, Tony think he might've gone deaf until Gibbs clears his throat.

"Something's missing," he says quietly.

Tony nods. "I thought the same thing, Boss."

Gibbs takes the bottle of Bourbon from Tony and cracks it open. He adds a few shots worth and takes another drag. Tim desperately tries to sink deeper into the sofa while Gibbs takes another swig of the egg nog. Eventually, Gibbs lets out a satisfied nod.

"Perfect," he breathes.

Gibbs adds some Bourbon to Tony's glass and pushes it towards him. He holds the bottle out to Tim, but the junior agent shakes his head.

"I already had a bunch at home," Tim says, but they all know that it's a lie.

Tony leans back into the sofa. On the television, the DVD home screen for _It's A Wonderful Life_ flashes. He sips his egg nog. A grin spreads across his face and the only word to describe is the one his boss just used: perfect. Maybe all of it—the Chinese food, his makeshift family, and egg nog—managed to make his Christmas just like it should be. Perfect.

He lets himself relax for the first time in weeks. He teeters right on the edge of sleep. With the ghosts of Christmas past and Christmas present at his side, Tony feels oddly like the ghost of Christmas future. In this moment, it doesn't seem as bleak as it did before.

Gibbs huffs. "Are we here for the movie or to watch you take a nap, DiNozzo?"

Tim starts, "Boss, we, uh, already…"

"Got things set up." Tony bolts upright for the remote.

When he hits play, he watches a movie that he has already seen a thousand and one times. But this time—just like every other time—feels different, special. He sneaks a glance at his friends. Tim nurses the second beer while sitting as close to Tony as possible. Gibbs picks at Tim's leftover Chinese food.

And Tony thinks for the first time this holiday season that maybe he's just like Jimmy Stewart. Maybe, just maybe everything will be okay. And maybe, just maybe he has a wonderful life too.

Somewhere far away, Tony thinks he hears a bell toll.


End file.
